Arkham Asylum: The Mouth of Madness
by Dr. Shibui
Summary: They say Arkham is cursed. Madness breeds madness. When the asylum patients riot Batman becomes trapped with his archenemies and discoved a diabolical plot by the Joker to destroy Gotham. Will the Dark Knight stop him in time or be swalloed by madness


**Yes, I know I should be working on my other stories but I'd just finished up **_**Batman Arkham Asylum **_**and I just had to get this idea down on paper. As a life-long fan of the Dark Knight I've been wanting to do a story based on the mythos for a long, long time and here it is. Read and enjoy! P.S. I don't own Batman or his fantastic villains. I do however own Dr. Rebecca Cartwright so hands off!**

Arkham Asylum:

The Mouth of Madness

Prologue: Party Planning

Gotham City, a dark metropolis, forever shrouded in smog, shadow, and bohemian rapture. Tall gothic structures, that put the ancient ziggurats of proud and decadent Babylon to shame, frowned at the speeding cars, the noise of industry, and the perpetual movement of humanity below.

Beyond the city's East Side, that area of slums known as the infamous Crime Alley, across the bridge toward an island in the middle of the river, squats Arkham. The asylum had been renovated and expanded, until the island had become a veritable fortress to contain the madness that lurked within. The asylum grounds were divided into four districts correlating to the cardinal directions.

To the west was the intensive care facility, a large hospital kept running by a dedicated medical staff for ailing patients and injured guards, providing round-the-clock care for the island's inhabitants.

To the south sat the penitentiary, a crumbling brooding structure where the patients are housed. The old prison had to be expanded and outfitted with more advanced security measures to accommodate the more dangerous inmates, such as Dr. Victor Freis a.k.a. "Mister Freeze", Whalen Jones a.k.a. "Killer Croc", Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley a.k.a. "Poison Ivy", and, of course, Arkham's most infamous patient, the Joker.

To the north was the Administration Building, which is housed in what was once the Arkham ancestral home.

Before Amadeus was institutionalized.

Before his nephew, Jeremiah, hung himself.

It was in this house of sadness that Dr. Rebecca Cartwright, the asylum's current chief of medicine/warden sat in thought, as she poured over the case-files of her asylum's various dangerous residents. She glanced out the window into yet another gloomy Gotham night. Stone gargoyles leered demonically as they kept their eternal vigil over this island of lost souls.

She caught her reflection in the window. When she had first taken the position five years ago she was barely into her thirties. Now she looked as though she were pushing fifty. The job had very visibly aged her. And it wasn't just the political pressures of her position, the almost nightly riots and the constant screams, giggles, and mutterings of the patients.

No, there was something about Arkham itself.

The mansion.

The asylum.

The very island beneath her feet.

There were rumors spoken amongst the guards, the nursing staff, and even a few doctors when they thought she couldn't hear, that Arkham was cursed.

It would certainly explain the fate of her predecessor, Dr. Bartholomew, who ate a bullet, and Dr. Hugo Strange before him who became obsessed with Batman's identity and ultimately destroyed himself. And, more recently, Dr. Jonathan Crane, a psychiatrist who specialized in phobias who was brought up on charges for human experimentation and adopted the criminal persona of "the Scarecrow".

She sighed and closed the folder, ready to call it a night. She had to get away from this island. Perhaps take a vacation. Lord knows she earned it. After all, if you weren't careful, Arkham might just swallow you whole.

- - -

In a padded cell, deep within the bowels of the penitentiary, surrounded by white padded walls the Joker, swathed in a straightjacket, and squatting in a corner, held his breath and listened. Through the tiny ventilation grate in the ceiling, he could hear Temple Fugate in the cell above him obsessively counting the seconds until midnight.

"T-minus 18,000 seconds and counting...T-minus 17999 and counting...T-minus..."

Irritating, perhaps, but hey, we've all got our quirks. And in this instance, the Joker had need for a timepiece. Even on as stuffy and anal as the Clock King.

His blood-red lips split into a wide yellow-stained grin as his green eyes gleamed with a fire born of madness.

"Soon," he giggled to himself. "Just a few more hours before our special day Batman..."

The maniac then began softly singing to himself, as he expertly slid an arm out of one of the sleeves and busied himself undoing the rest of his restraints.

"_Oh, razors and poison_

_A box of dead kittens_

_Acid and nerve-gas_

_And human-skin mittens_

_Piano cord, puppy blood, and dead baby jokes_

_These are a few of my favorite things..."_

"T-minus 17986 seconds and counting..." droned on the Clock King.

**Well that's ol' Fugate for ya. Screw's loose but the cogs keep on turning. By the way, before anyone makes comments about how this story may depart from the current continuity, let me explain that this storyline doesn't really follow any particular Batman continuity animate or otherwise. However, growing up I was really into Bruce Timm and Paul Dini's version so I may be more influenced by that than by anything else. As always R/R. Shibui out! P.S. Joker's one twisted mo-fo, twisting **_**The Sound of Music**_** like that! LOL**


End file.
